


Healing Touch

by SparkBeat



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Fingering, Magnets, Schmoop, brief mention of a wound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkBeat/pseuds/SparkBeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some schmoopy comfort stuff for Ray! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rayearthmagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayearthmagic/gifts).



Ratchet sighed, rolling his helm and sighing when a few misaligned links in his neck popped. It had been a long day in the medbay, not the least of which was the spark stopping moment when Rodimus dragged Drift in through the door, slumped over one shoulder and sparking from the waist.

“What the frag?” Ratchet was already moving to meet them at the door, First Aid right behind him with a gurney. 

“We were practicing, I-” Rodimus’ voice hitched, and Ratchet waved him away, hauling Drift’s limp frame up onto the mobile berth, ignoring the babbling mech in favor of inspecting the wound in Drift’s side. It had bit in deep, just below the narrowest part of his waist, slicing through cabling and sensor bundles alike. 

“The frag were you using live blades for?” He snarled, zooming in on the edges of the rent plating and seeing the smooth edges. Again, Rodimus had nothing of use to say, and he tuned him out in favor of following First Aid and the gurney into the surgery bay.

When all was said and done, the swordsmech had been ok. Groggy from the antipain nanites, loopy and smiling at Ratchet as he checked his vitals, but okay.

Two days later saw him moved to Ratchet’s rooms, for a lack of any better options. Ratchet wasn’t ready to clear him for active duty, with the weld still soft and fresh, but the mech was driving his other patients nuts. Between their (ridiculous) nervousness around the ex-decepticon, and the fact that Rodimus was there 24/7, it had been the best option available. After all, the co-captain knew better than to come into his rooms, unless he was bleeding from multiple wounds, on fire, and First Aid had been shot out the airlock. 

So when he walked in, rubbing the back of his neck and mentally going over his checklist for things that still needed to be done, that he could finish away from his office, he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Drift wasn’t resting.

What did surprise him, was the way Drift wasn’t resting.

He lay draped over the berth, but that was the extent of his relaxation. One knee was bent, pede flat on the berth, with the other leg dangling off the side, opening his thighs to give a generous view of his servos on his array. 

It wasn’t tantalizing enough to keep him from noticing how the pose put stress on his waist, and the weld line just below.

He was across the room in just a few steps, pressing him flat to the berth and glaring at him. Drift grinned, writhing under his servo and biting his lip in a coy little move designed to entice. Ratchet just snarled, holding him still with one servo and pulling his arms up against his chest with the other. 

“Oh Ratch-mfphh!” The servo binding the speedster’s wrists was transferred to that grinning mouth, silencing whatever he was going to say while Ratchet leaned in over him and glared.

“What. Part. Of. Stay. Still. Don’t you understand?!” His engine revved sharply, punctuating the way his voice raised on the last word, and Drift’s optics went dim, finials drooping and field going dull and depressed.

When he was sure Drift wasn’t going to say anything but an explanation, he released him. It took Drift a few moments to clear his vocalizer and find his words, and he was shaking by the time he spoke.

“I’m sorry Ratch...I just...you know how revved up I get for you. And you haven’t touched me in the last three days. I…” He drifted off, looking away and blinking back tears.

“Slag, kid...you’re injured. You need to rest, not get fragged into the berth.” Ratchet felt like an aft, trying to comfort the saddened mech, servos hovering as if he suddenly forgot how to touch.

“But I’m revved up. All the time. It’s not fair, I’m in your berth, and you won’t touch me.” 

Biting his lip, running over the options in his processor, he made up his mind, and crawled up onto the berth. Nudging at Drift’s thighs, which had reflexively closed when Ratchet had gotten upset, he crawled between them, and pressed one servo to his heated array.

Drift’s optics widened and he arched up into the touch with a gasp. Ratchet’s free servo pressed him back down, shaking his helm. 

“Stay still, kid. That’s doctor’s order.” Drift nodded wordlessly, mouth open on a long, drawn out moan.

Despite his best efforts, Drift still twitched and shifted minutely as Ratchet rubbed slow, soft circles around his exterior node, never once actually touching the sensitive cluster. When he parted the already slick folds of his valve and teased one finger into the clenching heat, Drift whined, hips lifting off the berth. 

Ratchet stopped, shooting him a warning glare, and then reached down around the edge of the berth to a set of controls hidden on the other side. With a hum, magnets activated, and Drift yelped when he felt himself pulled down tight against the berth and locked in place. Activating the coils in his own frame to repel the pull of the berth, he grinned down at Drift, pushing a second finger in alongside the first and curling them up to tease at the sensors along the front wall of his valve.

“Like that? Percy just finished it up last week.” He didn’t mention how he’d planned on surprising the speedster, he and Percy both, before the accident with Rodimus had put a halt to that. Instead, he pressed his thumb against the bright red glow of his anterior node, and rubbed a few firm circles into it while he tickled the dense cluster of sensors just inside his valve rim.

He was a little surprised when Drift shouted, frame tensing as his valve clenched down tight, almost painfully tight around his fingers, and overloaded with a gush of lubricants that ran down his servo and soaked into the berth covers.

Pulling his fingers free when the spasms of his calipers finally died away, he crawled up the berth, laying on his side next to the immobilized mech, and kissed the corner of his open mouth. Drift’s optics shifted to look at him from the corners of his shutters, and Ratchet found himself smiling at the adorable, blissed out expression on his face. 

“That was quick,” He commented, and then kissed the side of Drift’s face again when his faceplates heated up. “That’s not a bad thing!”

“Told you I was revved up…” Drift pouted, trying and failing to pull free of the magnets and roll on his side to face the medic.

“You did, and now you’re not.” He pulled a cloth from his subspace, and gently cleaned Drift’s array before sliding his panel shut manually.

“Huh?”

“Get some sleep kid.” He pressed another kiss to the speedster’s shocked mouth, rising from the berth and heading for his overstacked desk on the other side of the room.

“Ratchet, c’mon, let me up…Ratch?”

Ratchet chuckled, settling down to his paperwork and watching Drift over the top of his datapad.

Either the speedster would settle down and get some rest, or Ratchet would have to call Percy in to help him with a round two.

No matter which, at least he couldn’t move and pop that weld.


End file.
